


i know you, and i know me

by yareyareyumi



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Westworld (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, i'm just knee deep in western sci fi so i had to get this out, ngl i don't have a solid plot for this right now, rdr2's themes work so perfectly with westworld it's better than pb and j
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17824985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yareyareyumi/pseuds/yareyareyumi
Summary: hey what if we made rdr2 more sad and westworld more pretentious and confusing and we mashed them up togetherrdr2 westworld psych horror





	i know you, and i know me

Arthur Morgan liked to think that he’s been running, riding, stealing, shooting long enough to develop some good sense. And his good sense had told him, ever since Dutch rode triumphantly into camp with a fresh lead and even fresher recruits, that this job was too messy. 

“Blackwater?” Arthur demanded. “What’s there in Blackwater?” 

Micah hunched over the table, draping his ratty coat over the map spread out on top. His sallow face was puckered up in a smug grin. “Oh loads, cowpoke. Got a ferry, carrying a fortune in oil bonds, docking right there and sitting pretty end of this month.”

Arthur squinted suspiciously. “The hell for?” 

Hosea stroked his chin contemplatively. “The bank in Blackwater has been rather active, lately. It’s a prospering town, Blackwater, loads of legal business.” 

Dutch snorted derisively. “People just jumping out of their boots to sign away their freedom, no doubt.” 

He straightened up and clapped his hands, drawing all eyes in the room to him. “Alright gentleman. Polish your guns and take care of your needs. In a fortnight, we’re paying good, old Uncle Sam a visit.” 

The Callander boys let out nasty chuckles at that, palming their pistols. The men dispersed across the camp with a jingle of holsters and spurs and the low murmur of discussion. 

Arthur fell in step beside Hosea.

“This is turning out to be quite a job, ain’t it?” he murmured. “Seems we’re going to need every gun in camp. Reckon we oughta stay real low after this.” 

Hosea huffed out a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“I reckon we do, son. Pity about that lead you and I found. But never you mind, this ferry’s bound to be a real gold mine.”

“Sure,” Arthur agrees. “Also, about using every gun in camp, we bringing along the new recruits? I noticed Dutch didn’t exclude them from the meeting just now.”

“Well I’d say they’ve proved themselves. They’ve already helped with a couple of heists. Bill and Javier said they were half-decent.” 

“Since when was Bill the crowner of decency?” Arthur huffed but relaxed enough to light a cigar. He courteously offered his match to Hosea as well. “Well, Dutch seems real taken to them, at least.” 

Arthur glanced at said newcomers out of the corner of his eye. The three of them - two men and one women - were laughing and chatting with Micah, of all people, comparing firearms. The conversation apparently shifted, and Micah began showing off his sidearm drawing skills, spinning and slotting his pistols with extra flourish. Arthur snorted. That hot-headed show-off. 

Hosea chuckled. “He sure is taken to these new folk. The way they met, during bout with the lawmen by Manzanita Post - ”

One of the newcomers - the tattooed one - eagerly tried to mimic Micah but fumbled with his revolver. Arthur saw what was coming next, but it was too late.

“ - why, Dutch was mighty impressed by their shooting. Said it was almost like no lawman could touch th-”

The aberrant shot rang out, cracking through the murmur of camp. 

Everyone shot up ramrod straight in a ripple of panic, whipping their heads to look at the source. Everyone except the newcomers, who had collapsed into fits of laughter and cursing. Even Micah stared, dumfounded. Arthur saw the shot, and it should have gone through the feller’s foot. He saw it, and he saw the newcomers making fools of themselves, toes still intact, and, and -

Arthur blinked and found that he could care less. The camp blinked and found that it could care less and that it had plenty of work to do, no time to lollygag about. 

“Huh,” Arthur said jovially, turning back to his adopted father. “Well Dutch ain’t too easy to impress when it comes to sharpshooting. Reckon we’re in capable company, then.” 

\---

“Can you hear me, Arthur.” 

“Yes,” said Arthur. His blank faced jerked in an aborted attempt to smile. “Apologies, seems I’m disturbing you fine folk.” 

“Lose the accent - Christ, that is a Louisiana drawl. I always forget how strong this one’s is. Anyways, Arthur, where are you?”

“I’m in a dream.”

“Would you like to wake up from that dream?”

“Yes.” A beat. “I can’t rightly stand it.” 

“Well, Arthur, let me just ask you some questions, and you’ll be right on your way. What are your values?”

Arthur shifted and blinked - for the first time in hours - leaning forwards slightly to look his listener straight in the eye. 

“Loyalty. The gang, Dutch, me, we’re different because we’re loyal. Loyalty’s what separates us from the regular scumbags. Capability, too. Precious few fellers who can get a job done and done right. And decency, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m damned to all hell as is. I’m a rotten man.” 

A pause, perfectly timed to let the meticulously programmed expressions of anguish and turmoil flicker across his face - a flawless portrayal of a man wrestling with himself. 

“I don’t ever deserve to tell anyone, but sometimes I hate where I am going. I fear it. But, that’s all I’ll ever be, and I hate that too.” Arthur let out a heavy sigh and leaned back wearily, gazing sadly into the distance. 

“God,” Cali deeply exhaled. “I always forget how depressing his storyline is. Look at him brooding like that.”

Jo, watching over the analysis, chuckled. “It’s his appeal. Outlaw with a soft side. You know Samantha and her characters. Gotta say, it works though. Don’t you just want to climb him like a tree and bang all his sadness away?”

Cali snorted. “Well, it gets the guests feeling hot and heavy so whatever.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted her tablet screen. “Alright Arthur, step back into analysis mode please.”  
\--

A man needs to stand on something, for something else he wasn’t much of a man, more like something man-shaped just waiting to topple over. So Arthur gritted his teeth, ducked his head, and “Sure, Dutch”ed appropriately.

“Have a little faith, Arthur.” 

Arthur looked at the newcomers, greener than grass. He liked to think he was a realistic man, used to seeing the bitter truths for what they were. But, while he liked to think that, he knew, deep in his bones that what made him him, what made any small part of him worth anything, was loyalty. 

“Sure, Dutch.” 

Dutch lights her cigarette, readjusts her shotgun. 

“Atta boy,” she says in her French lilt. Her delicate faces screws up as she barks her next command. “Now gentlemen and women, let’s ride.”

\---

Dutch with blonde hair slicked back. 

\----

Dutch wiping blood of her spectacles. 

\-- 

“I gave you everything, Dutch,” Arthur rasped out. 

Dutch stared down at him, her gaze impassive, almost bored. 

Arthur wheezed and tasted blood with his shaky exhale. “I-”

Dutch drew her pistol and fired it two times into Arthur’s chest. 

As his whistled a last few pathetic breaths through the collapsed cavity in his ribs, he heard Dutch turn to her companion - Hector - and comment wryly, “Black hat’s kind of a drag as it goes on. And I guess I’m not adding this leadership position to my resume.”

Then Arthur feels his expression smooth out, his bewilderment and anguish slipping away with his consciousness. 

\---  
“I don’t know Dutch, Blackwater and now this.” Arthur shook his head. “This ain’t lying low - ”

“I’m,” Dutch cut in, his brow twitching, perspiration gathering on his dark skin. “Doing my goddamn best for this gang. God, you lot, you- you’re worse than my wife and she’s one ungrateful bitch.”

Arthur’s about to cut in, because wife, but then he remembers that it doesn’t seem like anything to him, and then he remembers to forget. 

Dutch’s hands are shaking. But Arthur trusted him because, because - 

That’s what Arthur does, did, will do.


End file.
